The Post About The Benefits of a Broken Window

I'm writing this while at lunch in Starbucks trying to figure out where a slice of cinnamon swirl coffee cake falls on the food pyramid. I'm lodged between a gal writing a paper and a professional couple who I'm fairly certain are conducting an illicit affair. That assumption is based on the 20-year age difference, the way she is dressed, his out-of-his-league hair & tie and the conversation on which I'm eavesdropping. Yowzers. Aren't these sort of things supposed to happen in roadside motels or the sporting goods aisle at Target?

Moving on.

I'm enduring something in my daily life I think would help you, so I wanted to disclose so we can all grow.
My car window won't roll down.

My Nissan is 11 years old, but gets the job done like a baby boomer union worker on the front line. Tough and persevering. 

The driver's side window got fussy a year ago - it would roll down, but not up. Since the repair would cut in on my makeup budget, I simply tried to remember to not roll it down. Since I didn't write a post-it telling me that, I kept finding myself leaving a drive-thru screaming "BLASTED" as I drove away with my black taco or deposit slip. 

I asked my Dad (the-man-in-my-life) to fix it. He always stares at me disbelieving when I make these random requests. My response is always the same: 

"Either spend your retirement learning new skills or find me a husband." 

After a minor electrical shock, which was probably a healthy reboot for his 64-year-old heart, the window was back up. This time, I incorporated a permanent reminder by removing the operating button.

So how has this impacted my life in the most glorious ways? 

1. I've lost weight. I'm not that person who'll pick up a fast food order by reaching out from the backseat window or open my door. My humiliation would be double since there's already the thing about value sizing something with the word "monster" or "trucker" in the name. And apparently I'm too lazy to park and walk 25 feet.

2. I've gone paperless. The bank is out. Remember what I said about the humiliation in #1? I'm confident the teller is already judging me for my regular $1.39 payments to Texaco for SweetTarts and the lack of regular payments to the gas company. Note: if you owe me money, I now only accept cash or Paypal. 

Downside? You know when a friend pulls up beside you to chat and makes a hand motion like they're rolling down the window in a car from 1981? I just shrug with sad eyes and point at my wrist as if I'm too busy to stop. 

I'm willing to sacrifice relationships to keep my mascara line item intact.


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